


Breakthrough

by JellyfishPublishing



Category: Classicaloid (Anime)
Genre: But this one came a month after the Bach one, Gen, I swear I didn't do many of these sorts of fics, Rebirth, Schubert's thoughts and feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-07
Updated: 2018-01-07
Packaged: 2019-03-01 15:02:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13297374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JellyfishPublishing/pseuds/JellyfishPublishing
Summary: Schubert was a careful man. A man of decorum who made himself, and his music, carefully and contained.But it's all bursting at the seams and he's never felt so good.





	Breakthrough

**Author's Note:**

> [A.N] I swear I don't make a lot of these introspective character stories. But this one and the Bach one were requests and I loved doing them. This one is set during episode 21 of the first season, which is why the title is the same as the episode. XD Please enjoy~! <3

He remembers the days, weeks, months, before his rebirth.

 

The music was buried in his bones, song was everywhere, all around him, and it took every inch of his willpower to keep himself in check. It was torturous and terrifying, to feel rhythm underneath his fingernails, engraved into his palm, thrumming under itching fingers just _waiting,_ and then having to clench his fists even tighter to keep it from spilling out. Music was in the air itself but to have true mastery--he thinks, _he thought_ , he believed, he _swore_ he knew---came from careful and meticulous use of it. Music could not be banged out, could not be made without thought; it was not real music then.

 

He doesn’t remember if there was ever a time in his life, this one or the last, where music ever felt more dangerous to him, more heartbreaking.

 

Yet he was disciplined, he would show restraint or he would never be anything more; a candle whose flame had been snuffed out before the wax grew hot. He would not disappoint though, he would not throw it all to chance, and he would rather be wound so tight that not even a whisper could escape from him than be consider some foolhardy, brainless, genius fluke.

 

He would be scrupulous.

 

He would be methodical.

 

He would be-!

 

He was….

 

But he had had enough.

 

After no Musik could come from him of his own volition, after being unseen and ignored to then being hated and reviled, to finally being simply unloved, he could feel his nails digging in. He felt as though it was bleeding from him, the feeling bursting from every vein. And so, he had let it finally slip through without even a moment to consider the consequences.

 

What finally burst from him, with all the strangeness and delight as a child placing their fingers on polished, ivory keys, were _words_.

 

A thousand cutting barbs he had held back along with the music, those thousands upon thousands of thoughts, sharp and biting, that he had held back as he cut scars into his palms. They burned his insides to ash but they couldn’t have hurt worse than being forgotten, despised, uncared for, and left to only the sinking feeling he felt on top of that roof.

 

Yet he finally let them go, prying his own fingers open as he flung them with haphazard precision. Carelessly, enthusiastically, and beautifully, he let it out with a snarl that marred the face of his former self, of the sniveling man he could no longer truly be.

 

And he loved it.

 

He commands their attention, _his_ attention, as they stare back at him with clear recognition. It is euphoria to have green eyes meet his head on, as though he could truly fight back. He tells him the truth, because no one wants to stay below their hero’s eyes, because then they’re lying to themselves and Schubert did _not_ want to be that liar anymore. He’s ready to meet _him_ there, on that pedestal he built for _him_ , and be known as his equal, as his competition. He shivers as he does it, smiles as he bares his teeth, and loves every minute of it. He is powerful now and he is finally _alive_.

 

 

His palm is wide open as he slaps back, as he takes the mic, as he makes Beethoven watch him rise. He can see, without the filter of restraint, that he burns too hot for any of them to handle.  


End file.
